Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.
Interlocking
Chapter Twenty Seven: Embrace
"His shoulders slump in defeat, his head shaking." - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.
Krem is immovable from Harding's side until there is another burst of Fade rift in the inner hold of Adamant. The moment the Inquisitor and their party fall out of the Fade into the middle of the Adamant courtyard. After the initial bout of surprise and commotion, Krem hears word that the Inquisitor lost a companion in the Fade.
Krem is running like he has never run before. The Chargers follow quickly behind. They halt just outside the gates and watch as the Inquisitor, Cullen and a small guard force tread wearily from the fortress. Krem's eyes find Bull in the group.
His mouth moves to speak but there are no words. He stands stiffly in the sand as Bull makes his way to his Chargers. The Qunari has a weary look in his eye when he stops in front of Krem. There is the wide bloom of burned and enflamed flesh along Bull's shoulder and the steady trickle of blood flowing from his temple. But he is alive.
Krem can only stand in aching silence as a bloody, shaky smirk spreads across Bull's lips and he drops a heavy hand to the other man's shoulder.
"Lieutenant," he croaks. There is the scraping chuckle along his voice that tells of a long night and a longer battle.
Something sharp twists in Krem's chest. "Chief." His voice breaks, his jaw clamping tight.
Bull only nods, and moves to pull Krem against him. They hold each other tightly, unashamedly, for a long, needed moment. When they pull back, Bull's hands still alighting Krem's shoulders, a deep frown mars the Qunari's face.
"Harding?"
Krem's lip begins to tremble.
She finally wakes a day later.
Krem is asleep for the first time in almost two days when Harding's eyes open.
She blinks hesitantly, drawing in a sharp breath at the stinging throb in her ribs. It takes her several moments to recognize the inside of an Inquisition tent around her. She lifts her arm slowly from her chest and looks down to the blanket covering her. Painstakingly, wincing slightly, she pulls the cover back and finds the heavy bandaging along her torso. Her mouth opens, her brows furrowed. Her lips are chapped and dry before she licks them in quiet confusion. Slow flashes of images are returning to her from the battle.
She turns her gaze left and finds Krem slumped against a few stacked crates, his eyes closed with the heavy lull of sleep, his hands hanging limp over his lap. He is close enough for her to hear his steady breathing. She wants to touch him.
Tears fill her eyes suddenly, and she feels the quaking breath leave her lungs as she watches him.
Everything is right again now that he is here.
When Krem stirs to wakefulness beside her, his eyes widening at her quiet, tear filled gaze, the breath gone from him as he leans forward in hesitant relief, the first thing she says is "Hold me".
He does.
And they are silent for long moments, only their heavy sobs sounding in the air around them as they grasp each other tightly, desperately, and do not let go.
It is night, cool and quiet, when Harding finally asks Krem, "What happened?"
He looks up at her, sitting beside her as she lay blanketed on the warm furs, propped up by some bundles of bed spreads so that she can sit up somewhat. He holds his hands tightly before him. Her meager bowl of broth and bread lays on the crate near them, mostly finished. Her eyes drift to the bandages wrapping his arm, easily visible with his armor gone.
Krem swallows and watches her. "You mean after you…got hurt?"
She nods silently, and there is nothing but softness to her gaze when she looks back to him.
It makes the guilt and regret ripe in him. He lowers his head to look at his clasped hands, his elbows resting along his knees. "Well, uh, Warden forces swarmed the wall and Cullen ordered the Inquisitor to reinforce it."
Harding muses quietly. "And what about you and the Chargers?"
Krem looks back up to her. "We were ordered to hold the first courtyard until the next wave came to push further into the second square."
There is the light hint of pride to her smile when she cocks her head at him. "I imagine you gave those Wardens a run for their money."
His brows furrow at her look, at her pride in him he feels he doesn't deserve. "I saw you fall." The words leave him before he can stop them.
She blinks at him for a long, dreadful moment. "Oh," she whispers, turning her gaze to glance at her folded hands in her lap.
He swallows tightly, scooting closer to her, his voice heavy and scraping. "I'm sorry. I…I don't know how you can even look at me when I left you." He stops, the thought settling inside him. A slow, uneven breath leaves him. "I left you. Maker."
He stands then, because he cannot bear to be near her when this ache festers within him. He puts a hand over his eyes, turning so that she cannot see his face. His shoulders slump in defeat, his head shaking. "I'm so, so sorry, Lace. I couldn't…there were lives at stake and then the advance…and then nothing but blood and rage for a long, long time." He lowers his hand from his face. It drops to his side where it clenches tightly into a fist, his knuckles white with the trembling force. "I wanted to run to you. I wanted to run and never look back and it just hurt so much to not be able to do anything. Maker, I couldn't fucking do anything." He turns then, his gaze falling on her silent form, heated and needful and bright with unshed tears.
She sighs softly and keeps her eyes on her lap.
The breath is harsh and raking in Krem's chest, the words tight in his throat. His fists are shaking when he closes his eyes. "I thought you'd…you'd want me to keep going. To perform my duty. But when I saw you I couldn't…I felt so…" He stops momentarily, because the memory of her pale face and cold fingers is still fresh and raw and vibrant. "I was ready to do unspeakable things if it meant you opened your eyes once more." He thinks back to that brief frantic moment when he had offered his blood up to Healer Slater, when he had forgotten everything but her in one desperate, horrible moment. When it was only the guilt and only the regret and only the dangerous, shattering realization that he might have made the wrong choice. That he might have lost her for good because he made the wrong fucking choice. He swallows tightly, his voice quaking. "I'd take it back. I'd take it back if I could and-"
"Krem."
He opens his eyes to find her watching him with everything loving and light and hopeful. Her green eyes are damp with tears, her head shaking softly, her lips trembling. "Krem," she repeats, her voice catching.
It is the greatest sound he's ever heard.
He kneels down to her and she reaches for his hand. He gives it to her without question.
She pulls her lip in a moment, simply watching him. And then she smiles. She smiles. And Krem didn't think he'd ever breathe again.
Harding rubs a thumb tenderly along the skin of his knuckles. "I'm proud of you," she breathes softly.
Krem's mouth opens and then promptly closes.
She continues. "We're soldiers. And we're in this fight so that others will never have to make the choices we must." Her eyes do not leave his. "You made the right one. I could never ask more of you."
Krem can only watch her. Can only breathe in quiet disbelief. His chest aches once more but it is not an unwelcome pain this time. He feels something take root in his heart and promise to not – to never – let go.
This woman. This woman who shows him unending warmth and fearless purpose and a world he thinks he sees in his dreams some nights, when he falls asleep with the image of her face behind his lids.
This woman he thinks he might love.
Harding clears her throat and lowers her eyes, her cheeks burning a soft pink. "I, uh," she chuckles as she stops a moment, her fingers soft along his hand, "I might have just fallen even harder, Mr. Aclassi."
He pulls his hand from hers and she looks up in surprise for a moment when she feels his palms cradling her face and the warm promise of his breath against her lips before he is kissing her. She can taste the salt of his tears as he moves his mouth against hers. Her eyes flutter closed as she sighs against him, feeling the needy, aching tremble of his hands as they hold her to him.
Everything is right again now that he is here.
Krem does not move his mouth from hers for long, desperate moments. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against hers and shares her breath. He holds her.
And she grips him back with the same need, the same shattering knowledge of what it means to be lost.
Wholly and willfully and without regret.